Port
by Linderel
Summary: Iruka is waiting.


Pairing: Kakashi/Iruka

Warnings: None. Except that it's slash, but you should know that already.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Kishimoto-sensei's. -pout- I am merely borrowing them.

A/N: What do you know, I'm back in the Naruto fandom. For a long time there, I was swept away by other fandoms (most significantly Potter and TeniPuri), but now I'm dividing my attention in this direction as well. Mostly I've just been splurging on fics and favouriting a ton of stuff, but my muse also decided to whack me upside the head with the plot bunny for this thing.

This turned out a lot more angsty (and slightly longer) than originally intended, and from a stylistical viewpoint it's a bit odd. Slightly experimental, I suppose. Feedback more than welcome.

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Port

by Lami-chan

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Days are passing in a blur, one melting to the next with nothing to make them stand out. They are monotonous: he will teach at the Academy till late afternoon, staff the mission room on a longer shift than necessary, then finally drag himself to his empty apartment late in the night. There he will either proceed to grade quizzes and essays or, lately more often than not, stare out his window. He counts himself lucky if he gets three or four hours of fitful sleep.

This has been going on for over a month, and there is no end in sight.

He now finds himself taking strolls to fill the hours, sooner or later unerringly ending up at the village gates. Iruka knows he is waiting - but for what, or who, he can't quite tell. It frustrates, but he knows the fog will eventually clear. Whether it be for better or for worse, will remain to be seen.

One day, he is feeling even more restless than usual, and excuses himself from the mission room early. Others promise to fill in for him, usher him on, say it's about time he takes a break. He doesn't hear them, or doesn't listen, and starts running for the gates. Rooftops flash by. He lands, and finds a rock to sit on, fidgeting with his vest.

Movement at the very edge of his vision arrests his attention, and in true shinobi style, his muscles tense of their own accord in preparation for fight. When the group nears, however, it simultaneously makes him slump in relief and, absurdly, tense up even more.

Although he is glad to see the boy, it isn't Naruto whose ragged yet cheery visage makes Iruka's heart leap and then thud painfully against the confines of his ribcage. Suddenly it is difficult to breathe, and he notes with some detachment that his knees are shaking nigh uncontrollably. As if it is he who has only just returned from a fortnight of sleeping on cold, hard ground and battling any number of enemy ninja until he is beyond exhaustion. His vision blackens for a brief moment, realisation hitting with all the weight of a thousand sledgehammers.

The dark-haired chuunin does the only sensible thing he can think of. He turns around and flees before any of Team Seven can detect him. Little does he know that the one who he most doesn't want to notice his presence does so either way, frowning beneath the mask in vague concern.

Later that night Iruka awakes to sense a familiar chakra nearby, almost disconcertingly so. Fingers trail gently along the line of his jaw, disappearing as he blinks his eyes open. Disappointment flares, however briefly, followed by something akin to panic as he realises just who is half-kneeling beside him. Iruka swallows convulsively and stares, one dark blue eye meeting him in a steady gaze. It is impossible to know how long he has been observed, slumped over his desk as he is, hair unbound, legs folded in an uncomfortable seiza that he now falls away from. Gingerly he braces his hands against the light wooden surface, stands up, turns away, all the while hyper-aware of the other's attention on him.

He opens his mouth, bites back words, closes it again. Squeezes shut his eyes and takes a deep breath. Turns back to face the masked jounin still looking at him, nonchalant, inscrutable, like it is something he does every day. And perhaps, he thinks, it is so. Perhaps he is not the only one who has been waiting.

But the possibility of this being anything more than wishful thinking is so insignificant that he brutally squashes the thought. He can almost hear the heel of his boot grinding against gravel and something softer. Something alive and breakable and breaking.

Iruka ignores the visual, and smiles at the surprise visitor who now is back on his feet, customary slouch in place, expression almost bored yet oddly intense. He bites the inside of his cheek, hard, takes comfort in the slippery copper taste of blood. It is familiar.

"Kakashi-sensei. Is there something I can do for you?"

Slow blink of the single eye. It is too blue, he feels like drowning, and this is a momentary relief. "Ah, no. I understand Naruto was worried since you two haven't seen in quite a while. He wanted to check on you, but I sent him ahead with Sasuke... Iruka-sensei, is there something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing, why ever would you ask? Thank you, you really needn't have come all the way here, I'm sure I'll see Naruto in the morning. Would you like something to drink, tea, perhaps?"

A hand shoots out to grab his chin, and if he flinches, it is only a little. Nonetheless, it is observed, and with a narrowing of the cobalt eye, the hand retreats. His sense of loss is keen. Even if he tries to ignore it, this is becoming harder by the moment.

"You are far too pale, Iruka-sensei. You've been working much more than your body could possibly handle," the masked jounin says, putting down neither Iruka's rank nor his abilities, but stating the plain truth. The teacher knows this, but bristles either way. To do so allows him to push down the sweet pain flaring in his chest. This uncharacteristic display of concern will be his undoing.

"I thank you for your trouble, truly. I am, however, perfectly... fine." A cup he began fussing with falls to the floor, shattering into pieces that fly every which way, and suddenly, he feels like crying. He flexes his fists, exhales, begins to crouch down when strong arms wrap around him and a hard body is pressed against his from behind. He chokes, inhaling the other's scent, vibrant and musky and unique, and so right it's wrong.

He breaks.

Those same arms support the dark-haired man as he collapses, surrendering all his weight, leaning into the firm chest, as he clutches at the fabric beneath his hands like a lifeline, as he weeps for an emotion he did not know he still possessed.

In the next moment, he is being kissed, gently, chastely, lips on soft lips, and he is drowning in the sensation. Kakashi lifts him, carries him to the bedroom, never freeing his mouth even as the kiss deepens.

It is too much, and too little, and he both fears and needs more. Before he can voice either assent or rejection, however, his clothes are taken from him layer by layer until there is nothing but skin left, and he is pushed down on the bed. Iruka watches, helpless and confused and so, so aroused as the other then strips himself bare. Not even the hitai-ate is left, and the Sharingan eye is intimidating but it is alright, for this... this is... "What is this? Kakashi?"

He receives a smile, then, and his heart stills because that face is there before him, and it is not curiosity that guides his hand to explore the features of it but something that makes his chest ache and his mouth quiver, and he draws the other onto the bed with him, beginning his surrender.

"You were what I was waiting for. I waited for so long, Kakashi, so long... what is this?"

He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then he is being kissed again, and, oh, finally they are here, together, and it is almost too perfect. Iruka knows he is trembling, but he does not care, only tightens his hold on the lean body above his.

"You," Kakashi breathes against his lips, jaw, throat, chest, "are my haven. My port in the storm. When I return to Konoha, I return to you. Will you be my port? Will you still wait for me, to be with me when I come? Will you," he kisses against his brow, "smile for me and yell at me and love me, and whisper away my sins? Will you? Iruka."

Iruka cries at this, only to have his tears brushed away by fingertips callused with years of handling kunai and shuriken, and these hands have taken the lives of countless people, but he doesn't care, because finally he knows. He guides Kakashi inside him and gives his answer, binds himself to it forever, repeats it until it is the break of dawn and they finally fall asleep, wound around each other, silent promise echoing in their dreams.

_Yes._


End file.
